


Quidditch World Cup 2014

by andchaos



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Canon Compliant, Gen, Harry Potter Next Generation, Post-Canon, Quidditch
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-14
Updated: 2014-07-14
Packaged: 2018-02-08 18:31:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,799
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1951704
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/andchaos/pseuds/andchaos
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A more in-depth exploration of what happened in the Top Box at the Quidditch World Cup 2014.</p>
<p>Or, how I read the Daily Prophet article, got Victeddy feels, and lost my head.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Quidditch World Cup 2014

**Author's Note:**

> warnings for minor sexual allusions at the beginning, some almost-cursing, and mentions of underage drinking (so basically, teenagers being teenagers)
> 
> Inspiration being the transcript of the match on Pottermore, and also one scene based off this post: http://burdge.tumblr.com/post/91507893814

          “…and let’s not forget, Rita Skeeter’s doing a live commentary, so we all have to be on our best behavior,” said Harry, twisting to look each of them in the eye so that they all knew there would be no exceptions. Victoire looked over at Teddy and rolled her eyes; he huffed a laugh, though he was forced to quickly stifle it as his surrogate father glanced in his direction.

          “That’s right,” Ron cut in. He turned around as best as he could with his wife’s hand in his, as she led them all into the Top Box. “Skeet’s here, and you know she’ll be more interested in when you pick your nose than when Krum gets the snitch.”

          “Krum’s not getting the snitch!” Albus shouted. “And even if he does, Flores’ll score enough—”

          “You don’t _really_ pick your nose, do you?” Lily asked over her brother’s rhapsodizing, gazing up at her uncle with distaste wrinkling her nose.

          Teddy leaned in and tapped her shoulder. She turned to look up at him, her brown eyes widening when he whispered, “Not since the last time, when Aunty jinxed his fingers together and left him to fry for a _week_ until he figured out the countercurse.”

          They filed into their seats just as the veela danced out onto the field; Ron almost immediately went slack-jawed, and Teddy saw Hermione elbow him sharply in the ribs. He jerked awake and, apologizing in an undertone, slid their fingers together. Teddy smiled to himself, looking away, and refocused on what Victoire was saying.

          “Don’t be ridiculous,” she scoffed, flipping her long blonde hair over her shoulder in a move highly reminiscent of her mother, “she wouldn’t leave his fingers glued together! That sounds like more punishment for _her_ than—”

          “Victoire!” her father shouted, making them all jump. Teddy jerked away, having failed to realize how close he’d shifted in his attention, and gazed guiltily up at Bill. He, however, was too busy reprimanding his daughter to notice Teddy’s transgressions. “Lily is _six_ —”

          “Come on, Dad,” said Victoire, and Teddy could hear how she tried to keep her exasperation to a minimum out of respect. “She’s grown up with _James_ , do you really think she’s all that innocent?”

          “What are you talking about?” asked James, leaning over the seats upon hearing his name. He rested his head on his arms, the picture of virtue, and Teddy shifted away as his elbow jabbed him in the throat.

          “And you’re fourteen!” Bill reminded her, ignoring James completely. After ten years together—and Teddy was old enough by the time James was born to know he’d been a snot-nosed little kid, even back then—that ignoring him was really the only way to deal with James Potter.

          “I’m not saying _I_ would care—” said Victoire, suddenly blushing, and Teddy looked away, desperately morphing the red from his cheeks.

          Bill sighed and got to his feet. “Come on, move over,” he said, squeezing past Albus and both of Percy’s daughters, Molly and Lucy, and ushering his daughter to stand as well. Pouting, she did so, and after a troubled minute of maneuvering around everyone, Victoire settled into her father’s seat, and Bill sat down next to Teddy.

          “Watch the game, would you?” he said to his daughter, before sitting back.

          Less than a minute later, the whistle blew and the players were off. Two rows ahead of him, Neville jumped to his feet, cheering his admiration for Draganov as he blocked a goal from one of Brazil’s players. Hannah laughed, swept up in his enthusiasm. Teddy turned away from the pair and actually managed to engross himself in the game as much as possible, although every once in awhile he would glance over at Victoire, who was resolutely slouching back in her seat with her arms crossed.

          “No need to be glum,” said a voice in his ear. He jumped and looked away from Victoire, around at the others in the box; Albus was screaming himself hoarse as Flores scored a goal, while the others were shaking their head at the Bulgarian Keeper. Luna Lovegood smiled down at him, her radish earrings—a little worn by now—brushing her jaw as they swung. She continued, “Bill will get distracted by the game in a little while, and you can probably sneak next to her again. For now, would you like a blibbering blueberry bar?”

          “What is it?” he asked hesitantly, eying the box she offered.

          “It’s a regular fruit and nut bar,” she explained, eyes popping slightly with excitement, “which Rolf and I infused with the juice from a blibbering humdinger, to give it the extra flavor.”

          “It’s actually pretty good,” Bill whispered from his other side, as Luna continued to rave about the snack. “And it won’t kill you.”

          “I’d love one, Ms Lovegood,” said Teddy, beaming up at her. “They look delicious.”

          It was, actually, as he discovered when he bit into it while Luna squeezed passed him to hand them out to the others. A little crunchy, with an odd tangy aftertaste that he supposed was the humdinger in it.

          The game was going pretty well—the Bulgarians were winning, but only by a hair. As Flores scored Brazil’s first goal, the Quaffle zooming past the Bulgarian Keeper’s wildly flailing arms, Albus jumped to his feet again and rushed to the edge of the Box, shouting his praise. James stood, too, and winked at Teddy. Teddy glanced uneasily over at Victoire, whose worried expression mirrored his own.

          “He’s not going to—?” asked Victoire.

          “I think he— _Albus!_ ” Teddy shouted, jumping up, but he was boxed in by the people surrounding his seat. Fortunately, Ron lunged forward and grabbed the back of Albus’s robes before he could tumble over the side. He led him backwards, ushering him into the seat between him and Harry.

          “James!” shouted Harry, standing as well, his gaze pinning his son to the spot where he was trying to sneak back down the row to his seat. “Are you trying to get him killed?”

          James flushed. “Not seriously!” he said. “I knew someone would catch him!”

          “We are—” Harry started, but he was interrupted by another loud cheer from the crowd. He whipped around, searching wildly through the pitch to try to discern what had happened. “We are talking about this later,” he finished, jaw clenched as he turned back to his son. James nodded meekly and plopped down behind Teddy again, looking sulky. Harry ran his hand through his hair and sat as well, putting one arm around Albus’s shoulders and offering him a blibbering blueberry bar.

          As the game continued, Teddy had to hand it to Albus that Flores was actually pretty good, scoring three of Brazil’s four goals. However, Teddy put most of that on Bulgaria’s Keeper, whom he noticed was veering to the left a little too much while keeping his eyes on the Quaffle. As Alonso and Vassileva both scored in quick succession, bringing the score to a round 50-20 in Brazil’s favor, Harry suddenly jumped to his feet with a gasp. The other adults also rose and hurried to the edge of the Box, teetering on their toes and leaning worriedly far over the edge, and Teddy barely had time to meet Victoire’s eyes in confusion before the announcer’s voice boomed over the stadium:

          “The snitch has been sighted!”

          Clapping excitedly, Victoire slid over the vacated seats and into the one next to Teddy’s. She slipped her hand into his and leaned close, her lips grazing his ear so that he could hear her over the roar of the crowd.

          “Who’s your money on now?” she asked.

          “Still Bulgaria!” he yelled back.

          “Their team hasn’t played very well,” she said doubtfully.

          “But their Seeker’s good,” said Teddy, his voice dropping in volume slightly as the crowd settled a bit. “And I bet their Chasers pull back any minute.”

          “Oh, please,” she said, rolling her eyes. “ _I’m_ a better Chaser than them, and I Keep!”

          “Best Keeper since Uncle Charlie,” said Teddy, his smile small and fond. Victoire giggled a bit at the compliment, and, after a quick glance around to assure that their parents’ attentions were focused elsewhere, leaned in to place a soft kiss on his lips. When she pulled away, Teddy grabbed her shoulder and pulled her in for another one, a little deeper and more insistent. She was red-cheeked when he pulled away, from exhilaration rather than embarrassment, and Teddy saw Luna threw a wink their way before turning back around. Teddy blushed. Victoire ruffled her fingers through his blue hair, ignoring his grumbling as he smoothed it carefully back into place.

          “Victoire!” he complained. “That took half of a tube of Sleekeazy’s.”

          “You’re cute when you’re annoyed,” she said, shrugging. He rolled his eyes and huffed, but locked his fingers a little tighter around hers anyway. Under impulse, he leaned over and kissed her cheek. Her whole face tinged pink, and she smiled.

          “…and they’re miles behind, but with Krum Seeking, they’ll catch up.” Ron’s voice filtered through to Teddy’s ears as the crowd’s excitement died down a little when the Snitch disappeared again. “As long as their Keeper doesn’t start doing this again—” He paused to demonstrate the Bulgarian Keeper’s earlier wild moves. “—we can get the Snitch before Brazil scores ten more times.”

          “Yeah,” said Harry, grinning mischievously. “He looks like you did sixth year. I was tempted to break out into Weasley Is Our King.”

          “Bite me,” said Ron, and Teddy could see how red his ears got.

          “Oh, come on, Harry,” said Hermione, smoothing down her robes. “Ron’s much better now, haven’t you seen him play lately? He managed to block at least half the goals Ginny tried to score on him last week.”

          “Thank you,” Ron said solemnly. He gave an exaggerated kiss to her cheek while Harry mimed retching. A groan from the crowd diverted Teddy’s attention back to the game, just in time to see Krum land hard on the field and the on-hand Healers rush over.

          “He’s tough, he’ll bounce back,” said Victoire, although she leaned forward anxiously to get a better view of the action. “Did you see what happened during the match against Germany two years ago?”

          “Didn’t they win that one?” said Teddy.

          “Yeah, after he took a Bludger to the throat,” she said, shuddering. Teddy clutched his throat against the sympathy pains that bloomed at her words.

          “Who took a Bludger to the throat?” asked Albus, climbing over from the row behind and plopping down next to Victoire. “I went to the loo. What happened?”

          “Nothing, Krum got injured,” said Teddy.

          “He what?” asked Albus, his voice raising several pitches.

          “He’s fine, it’s nothing serious,” said Teddy, but Albus had already clamored to the front of the Box, next to Neville, and was asking after Krum in an undertone.

          “I thought he was supporting Brazil,” said Victoire, watching him go.

          “He is. Obsessively.” Teddy rolled his eyes. “But nevertheless, Krum’s the most interesting player out there!”

          “Fair enough,” she said. She laid her head against his shoulder and linked their arms. He laid his cheek over the top of her head and joined her in watching Neville enthusiastically recount Krum’s injury to Albus. “Look, he’s back up already.”

          “You’re right, he’s tough.”

          “I’m always right.”

          He started to nod lazily, but aborted the movement; Krum and Silva were both rocketing upwards, and he jumped to his feet.

          “Is that the Snitch?” Victoire had to shout to be heard over the pandemonium that had swiftly overtaken the stadium as the Seekers raced almost directly upwards into the air.

          “Silva’s gonna get it!” Teddy shouted in disbelief.

          “No, he’s not!” Victoire yelled back. “Krum’s speeding up—!”

          “Go, Krum, go!” Teddy shouted, waving his hands wildly as though that would help anything. His violent gesticulations through the air suddenly hit something solid; Victoire cursed loudly.

          “Oh, sh—” Teddy said, turning quickly towards her. “Did I hit you?”

          “I’m fine, I’m fine!” she shouted, wresting her wrists from his worried grip and trying to peer around him so that she could see the match. She was massaging her nose. “Look, see?” she added when his fearful expression didn’t abate. She tilted her chin up. “No blood!”

          “I’m so sorry!” he said again, running a hand through his short blue hair.

          “Don’t worry about it,” she said, twining their fingers together and leaning up onto her tiptoes to plant a gentle kiss to his mouth. “It was an accident.”

          He brushed a strand of hair away from her face and half-smiled. “Are you sure?”

          “I’m positi—oh!” She broke off in a gasp, pointing with her free hand at the pitch. Teddy whirled around, his arm slipping around her waist instead. “They’re neck and neck!”

          “They’re almost there! Who d’you think—”

          “KRUM’S CAUGHT THE SNITCH!” The announcer’s voice boomed over the stadium. “BULGARIA WINS!”

          “YES!” Teddy screamed. Victoire shouted a wordless cry of jubilation and threw her arms around his neck, jumping up into a hug. He caught her as her legs locked around his waist, and she was smiling and pressing kisses to every bit of his face she could reach. They were both still shouting, their voices lost in the onslaught of noises from all around the stadium as the crowd celebrated or commiserated, and she threw her hands up excitedly and then jumped down from his arms.

          Almost as soon as she was safely on the ground, James came barreling over, shouting, “We’ve won, we’ve won!” He pulled them both into a hug, a three-way embrace that was difficult to execute because none of them could stop jumping up and down. Someone hit Teddy’s back and then Rose was jumping and cheering with them, too, and then George and Angelina and Harry and Ron, and then everyone else, until they were one large mob of celebration.

          After a few minutes, people started to break away from the main group, although they were still cheering or clapping each other on the back, and Albus hadn’t stopped applauding. Teddy pulled Victoire back into another hug, this one private between just them. She kissed him before pulling away.

          “Teddy, Teddy!” someone shouted, running up to them. He turned to find James back again, pulling insistently at his sleeve. “Teddy, Mum’s hexed the Skeet!”

          “No way!” Teddy yelled. Laughing, he allowed James to pull him to the edge of the Top Box. James thrust a pair of omnoculars into his hands and pointed towards where the journalists usually sat.

          “Oh my god!” Teddy shouted. He turned and thrust the omnoculars at Victoire. “Vicky, look!”

          She didn’t even protest the nickname, too busy laughing at Ginny’s jinxing of Rita Skeeter. After looking her fill, she passed the omnoculars back to James, who proceeded to scream, _“DAD!”_ and fill the others in on the news of what Ginny had done. Still giggling, Victoire leaned her elbows on the edge of the Top Box and looked out over the pitch, eyes scanning the crowd and the players, who were now shaking hands with the opposing team down on the grass. Teddy leaned next to her, but he was only half paying attention to the view, as the rest of his attention was trained on her.

          Without looking around or saying a word, Victoire’s hand found its way back to his, the way it usually did. They stood leaning over the edge for some time, silent and enjoying the continued celebrations of the Bulgarian supporters, until Ron’s voice broke through their serenity.

          “Come on, guys! The party’s back at the tents!”

          After one more look, the pair of them turned away from the rest of the audience, joining the queue to exit the Top Box. As they descended the last of the stairs onto the grass, Victoire looked up at him.

          “D’you reckon we can steal some firewhiskey later?” she asked, swinging their hands.

          “Definitely,” he said, looking over at the adults. They were already looking a little punch-drunk off excitement, and Teddy knew how most of them got after they’d had a few drinks in them. They found their campsite and he and Victoire immediately sprawled out on the grass at the edge, watching their families cheer and toast and drink.

          “Can we go to the World Cup every year?” asked Victoire, leaning against him. He locked his arms around her and pressed a kiss to the side of her head.

          “I hope so,” he said.

          They did manage to steal some firewhiskey later; they spent most of the evening huddled around a fire with their cousins, playing drinking games and experimenting with the correlation between Teddy’s alcohol consumption and his metamorphmagus abilities. And for the night, all was well.


End file.
